


no use wishing now for any other sin.

by cereal



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 21:28:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1484683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cereal/pseuds/cereal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That Pierce has been married once, let alone several times, makes her angry all over again about the state of marriage equality in America.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no use wishing now for any other sin.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for myr_soleil back in 2010 for something I don't remember now, it's post Pascal's Triangle Revisted. Originally posted [here](http://cereal.livejournal.com/158670.html) back then. Title from Elvis Costello's 'Pump It Up.'

Britta doesn't throw up every time she thinks about the Tranny Dance.  
  
Because Britta hasn't always just eaten. So, sometimes Britta  _dry heaves_  when she thinks about it.  
  
This is an important and worthwhile difference -- and it's the foundation of Britta's  _I'm totally fine, everyone back the fuck off_  defense.  
  
Unfortunately, since it's the summer, no one can  _see_  Britta's total fine-ness, so she just ends up sending a lot of messages that say it instead. But she handles those with grace and tact and complete harmony with the goddamn universe, OK?  
  
When she gets e-mails from Shirley, she responds to every one -- all 26 of them -- with, "I'm fine."  
  
And when Troy posts on her Facebook wall with a single question mark, she writes back with a smiley face.  
  
And when Pierce leaves her a voicemail that's just him trying to remember how he programmed her into his phone -- "Call Medium Boobs. Call Blonde One. Call Jeff Winger's Second String. Call Jeff Winger's Third String." -- she deletes it, instead of calling back to lecture.  
  
And when she buys that used Schwinn she's been eyeing at the thrift store as a reward for keeping it together and Slater almost runs her over in the Whole Foods parking lot, she only lets the air out of one of her tires.  
  
And when -- oh, fuck it. She's not fine. But she's not going to, like, cry herself to sleep every night or anything. She's got cats to take care of. And stuff.  
  
Mostly she does a lot of yoga on a mat she freecycled from a studio down the street and listens to Beulah's Yoko album. Sometimes she shops for shoes on the internet. Sometimes she  _does_  cry. But they're tears of rage, right? Or over the plight of starving children.  
  
They're not about Jeff.  
  
(She's really hoping no back to school assignments involve recounting what she did on the break.)  
  
Three weeks before the summer ends, she gets an e-mail from Abed about how cliffhangers are trite and overdone and would she be willing to give him some spoilers?  
  
While this is kind of a welcome break from Shirley's e-mails (mostly because, unlike Shirley, Abed doesn't use that e-mail background that looks like flowery stationery and grinds her ancient MacBook to a halt), it's still kind of inappropriate.  
  
She's halfway into a long, impassioned reply about how life isn't a TV show and things aren't as simple as all that and, no, this isn't a plot device to propel ratings, this is her reality, when she gets another e-mail. An invitation. From Pierce. To his wedding.  
  
Now maybe  _that's_  a plot device.  
  
&&.  
  
That Pierce has been married once, let alone several times (something she would doubt if not for that awful stepdaughter), makes her angry all over again about the state of marriage equality in America.  
  
She takes an hour to write another letter to her congressman before actually reading the invitation.  
  
The wedding is that weekend, a whole four days away, with the horrible explanation:  
  
 _We've already 'fell' why wait for fall?_  
  
And -- because Pierce has no idea how to use computers -- the entire guest list and who's RSVP'd is visible from the link to the event site.  
  
(There's also a giant, sparkle text banner that flashes, "Open bar!" while a muzak version of 'Margaritaville' plays, so obviously she will be attending, for the free booze at the very least.)  
  
She checks the site every hour for the next two days until the rest of the study group has confirmed. Annie and Jeff both commit, but 11 hours apart. Maybe that means something. Maybe she's going to pretend she doesn't care.  
  
When Britta finally sends in her own confirmation, she's not even given the space to check whether she'll be bringing a guest. This is probably  _not_  an oversight, but Britta lets herself blame it on Pierce's technical skills again.  
  
(She tries, just to see if she can, to make that sparkly text on an early birthday card for one of her cats. She can't do it.)  
  
&&.  
  
Pierce's new wife is named Dandelion, which is insane and even though Britta knows especially well that you shouldn't be judged on naming choices made by your parents, she can't help but feel that being called something that isn't even an actual flower, but a  _weed_  probably degrades your mental state. Maybe even enough to make marrying Pierce seem like a good idea.  
  
Pierce and Dandelion (oh, jesus christ) have only registered at two stores: a supermarket and Foot Locker. Britta's been to some unique weddings, but never had to show up with either several ears of corn or a pair of sneakers just to be polite.  
  
Because she's not up on her research about Nike, she's going to have to assume they're still utilizing horrible labor practices, which leaves the grocery store.  
  
Britta picks up a sack of potatoes and a loaf of sourdough bread, and makes sure to tell the clerk she's on the Hawthorne registry. She watches the woman pull it up on the computer screen and check two items off of the 'Carbs' section.  
  
She's not sure how to feel about a society where registering for groceries is a Thing, but, well, she's definitely going to register at Amnesty International someday, so: not in a position to judge.  
  
&&.  
  
That she doesn't talk to anyone in the time before the wedding would be weird, except that she's actively avoiding talking to anyone.  
  
Shirley has texted and called no less than four times, trying to ask what Britta will be wearing and whether she's heard any more about Dandelion and that whole story. Just because Britta isn't answering her phone, doesn't mean she doesn't listen to the voicemail where Shirley explains the crazy registry:  
  
It's some sort of end-of-the-world thing, Dandelion is concerned about zombies, they want to be prepared, and they want to be able to run away.  
  
This wedding is going to be  _fantastic_.  
  
&&.  
  
As it turns out, the first words she speaks to anyone from the study group at the wedding are, in fact, "I'm fine."  
  
She's struggling with the potatoes, the bread, her purse, and the four-and-a-half inch heels she bought and had overnighted so they'd get here in time for the wedding and in time to match the fuck out of her awesome dress when Abed walks up.  
  
(Her electric bill is probably not getting paid this month, but if impulse material purchases end up being the worst decision she makes involving this wedding, it'll be a really, really good day.)  
  
"If you're taken away on a stretcher in the first scene, that'll split the action between the hospital and the wedding and the narrative will be much less linear," Abed reaches out a hand to take the groceries away from her.  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
Abed looks like he's going to protest when his eyes focus on something behind her.  
  
"Maybe a comedic pratfall then," he tilts his head and refocuses on her.  
  
"I'm not going to fall, this isn't a Jackass movie."  
  
Jeff comes up out of nowhere and grabs the food before it hits the floor, "Whoa there,  _Ms._  Potato Head."  
  
"Oh, now it is. A Jackass movie. Johnny Knoxville. What."  
  
It's definitely not a good joke, an artfully crafted joke, or even really a joke, but it's also not blurting out, "I love you," again, so she'll take it.  
  
Jeff's in a slim cut suit, his hair messed up like he spent more time on it than usual (so: probably  _two_  hours then) and he smells really fucking good. He's also wearing a tie that's the exact same shade of maroon as her dress.  
  
Great.  
  
He notices only a few seconds after her and has decided that it's an appropriate thing to comment on. Which it's not.  
  
"We are going to look  _great_  in our prom pictures." He smirks at her, which only makes her angry. Like this is OK and she's supposed to just reset and everything's back to normal. Let's joke around and forget about that time she told him she loved him and he made out with Annie instead.  
  
(Whether she really does love him is both irrelevant and something she can't decide. At the very least she loved him then, in that moment. Which sounds weird, but Britta's spent months trying to figure it out -- and she doesn't regret saying it, she regrets when and how and what happened around and after it.)  
  
"Are you going to stick around long enough for them to be taken? Or are you and your debate partner going to sneak away again?"  
  
Jeff takes a step back from her and puts his hands up in front of him. She can almost hear Abed open his mouth to say something, so she turns on her heels and leaves instead.  
  
&&.  
  
The heels aren't comfortable and her stupid dress matches Jeff and what ends up being her best impulse purchase are the cigarettes she grabbed at the gas station on the way over.  
  
She didn't even stop and make herself think about it, she just -- bought them (and a pack of gum and a Red Bull that she guzzled right in front of the store, ashamed and rushed).  
  
Before she's even processed anything, she's standing in the parking lot, halfway through her second cigarette, blood buzzing in a way that is better than literally everything else in the entire world. Why did she quit smoking again?  
  
"Britta!" Shirley practically jumps out from behind a car and Britta sputters, coughing smoke out while her eyes water. Ah, the coughing, that was why. And the cancer.  
  
For a second she thinks about stubbing her cigarette out, maybe trying to hide it, but Shirley's already seen her and why waste a perfectly good cigarette? Those things are expensive.  
  
Britta's not entirely sure what her face looks like right now, but it's got to be some combination of pathetic and don't-fuck-with-me, because Shirley doesn't lecture or bring up Jeff.  
  
She just glances at the pack near Britta's feet and says, "Ooh, a Native American, that's nice."  
  
"Yeah, there's, uh, less additives."  
  
In Shirley-land this is apparently a green light, or at least a sign that Britta isn't going to flip out, and so, after a tiny, pointed cough (oh, good grief, like no one's ever tried  _that_  before), she launches into it.  
  
"You didn't return my calls, I was just trying to check up on you. You know, like friends do," Shirley's voice is all syrupy sweet and Britta curls her toes inside her shoes, except they're too tight and her foot cramps.  
  
There's really no reason to be mad at anyone, but it's just -- they've all, Shirley included (especially), stoked the whole thing between her and Jeff so many fucking times, that it seems they're just as much to blame as her colossally bad judgment and timing.  
  
Plus, they were all there -- all at the dance as she made a sensitive, gooey jerk of herself, and all outside as a feel-better trip for frozen yogurt became walking into Animal Makeout Kingdom (or something clever, but not too clever, no need to glorify it).  
  
But instead of lashing out, she goes for the truth.  
  
"I didn't want to talk anyone," she tries to layer the words with all the reasons why, like how she was embarrassed and hurt and why does she have to explain why she was feeling antisocial after she told somebody she loved them and they went outside to make out with a 19-year-old? Isn't that a normal thing to be upset about?  
  
One more time: a 19-year-old.  
  
(OK, yes, Annie is more than a 19-year-old, she's  _Annie_ , but that somehow makes it worse than if Jeff had just found some random girl in the quad to grope. Because that would be an unfeeling, normal Jeff thing to do. With Annie, there's history and context and, oh fuck, probably emotion.)  
  
Shirley doesn't respond and Britta's cigarette burns itself out, forgotten in her hand.  
  
She's looking around for an ashtray or a garbage can when a loud siren blares and she and Shirley both jump. A crackly voice comes over the speakers and by the time the announcement is over, she's confident that this will be a bigger trainwreck than 10 Tranny Dances.  
  
 _This is a test of the emergency broadcast signal. Please report to the banquet hall for further instructions._  
  
&&.  
  
What's in the banquet hall is possibly the best news she's gotten all summer: she's not allowed in the ceremony.  
  
Actually, everyone from the study group, minus Troy, isn't allowed in. Apparently Dandelion and Pierce can't risk the secrets of their "religion" being exposed to the unwashed masses. However, it's totally a religion you can join through osmosis, which means Troy's in, just because he's living with Pierce.  
  
"But I'm a Jehovah's Witness!" Troy looks panicked.  
  
"Not anymore!" Pierce is standing in ceremonial robes that look an awful lot like  _joke_  ceremonial robes.  
  
They go back and forth for a few minutes, Pierce explaining the ceremony to Troy, Troy worrying about breaking the news to his mom, while the rest of the group stands there.  
  
(Except for Abed, who's across the room, separating the gifts into piles based on food group.)  
  
Annie is staring at the floor, Jeff is staring at Britta, Britta is pretending to talk to Shirley about --  _something_ , they're talking about something, but Britta's just saying words, she doesn't even know what they are. Are they talking about baking?  
  
"Cookies!" Britta blurts out.  
  
Everyone looks at her and Pierce sighs.  
  
"No, Britta, there's not cookies. We'll be serving the traditional meal of Lotus Enlightenment -- Whopper Jr.'s with Hawaiian Punch, and a string cheese  _amuse-bouche_. I thought you were supposed to be cultured." He rolls his eyes.  
  
Britta's not even sure how to respond, it's been so many weeks without these people that it's almost like she's forgotten who she is around them. Not that she's even that person anymore.  
  
&&.  
  
Dandelion, who Britta still hasn't seen, is super serious about this end of the world, zombie invasion thing -- and she's using her  _wedding_  as an opportunity to pick her teammates. At least -- that's what the cards on the tables say.  
  
It makes sense that Greendale would be seated together, but Britta wasn't expecting how they'd naturally seat themselves exactly like they do in the study group, with a space left for Troy even.  
  
This is how she ends up sitting next to Jeff, arguing that the best use of their limited LEGOs is to build a very, very tall wall.  
  
Everyone not attending the ceremony is supposed to construct a miniature city out of the building blocks -- the table with the city best equipped to handle the undead would receive a formal invitation to shack up with the Hawthornes when the apocalypse comes.  
  
If the dead rise up from the ground and come after Britta's brains, the last place she wants to be is with Pierce, but conflicting with that is how much Britta hates to lose.  
  
Which is a lot. She hates losing a lot.  
  
Jeff's making zero sense, suggesting they use the bricks to lay traps for the zombies.  
  
"We need to be armed and weaponized against them," he snaps two bricks together and calls it an IED.  
  
"Oh, yeah, because there are only going to be six zombies in the entire invasion. Once we take them out, we'll be  _fine_."  
  
"And so we're just supposed to hide behind your giant wall? Until when?"  
  
"It's a base, Jeff. We have to protect our supplies."  
  
Shirley starts to say something, but Britta's reacting before she can even process it, "I've got this!"  
  
She hears Jeff echo the same statement, like it's in stereo, and Shirley sniffles.  
  
"No, this is good," Abed says. "It's a metaphor for each of their personalities. Britta has built a wall around her heart to keep people out and Jeff has set off a series of flash and burn explosions that have no real impact on the environment, but look impressive for a short time."  
  
Britta immediately glances to Annie.  
  
"I think we should try and rehabilitate the zombies and not judge them for decisions they made in the past."  
  
Annie looks both scared and resolute and Britta feels herself deflate. Being 19 is like -- oh god, it's  _being 19_. If Britta were held accountable for mistakes she made at that age, Thom Yorke would be pressing charges and she'd probably still be banned from the Park Slope Food Coop.  
  
Not that she's letting Annie off the hook. It's just -- what, is she going to stay mad forever? And it's not like Jeff wasn't an equal part of that whole thing.  
  
(And it's not like she actually had a claim to him anyway -- Slater proved that much.)  
  
She's tired, is all. Tired of thinking all this over, tired of, oh, jesus christ, tired of  _emotions_. It was a lot easier when Jeff was chasing her and she could take it or leave it or put a fucking sombrero on a frog.  
  
"Annie's right, the zombies are a product of their environment. Like pit bulls, they have a bad reputation, when really it's forced breeding and dog-fighting that creates hostile animals. We can't blame the zombies for Michael Vick."  
  
Jeff smiles, like he's surprised at her maturity or something (she's is  _not_  19, ahem) and something slots in place.  
  
"As tenuous as that metaphor was, I can and do blame Michael Vick for several things, including the loss of hundreds of dollars in the firm's fantasy league."  
  
"Aw, there's not enough barely contained homosexual tension on your TV? You need to sit around dreaming up more of it?"  
  
Britta's not sure, but it seems like the rest of the table exhales.  
  
&&.  
  
Troy is crying after the ceremony. There's no context, no way to tell if it's happy crying, sad crying or emotionally scarred crying. He's just crying.  
  
Normally Britta would try and maybe deal with this -- or at least prod Shirley and Annie to deal with it, but any minute now, Pierce is going to walk in and Britta can't  _wait_  to meet Dandelion.  
  
They didn't really finish their zombie-proof city at all, it's just a few different pieces of building and sculpture after Annie divided the blocks up into equal parts. Abed got a roof piece with his set, but Britta got a little LEGO man.  
  
"What do you think she looks like?" Jeff's reclining back and Britta can tell from the way his foot is tapping that he's itching to put it on the table. His socks probably match her dress, too.  
  
"I hope it's like that episode of Friends where Rachel tries to get over Ross, with Russ, who looks just like him," Abed says.  
  
Troy, who's stopped crying, shakes his head, "Dude, I was in there, that lady does  _not_  look like David Schwimmer."  
  
"But does she look like Shirley?" Abed seems genuinely hopeful.  
  
"She's white."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Shirley crosses herself.  
  
The reality is probably even better than a Shirley-clone -- Dandelion looks exactly like Ms. Frizzle from the Magic School Bus.  
  
&&.  
  
Jeff -- even though he wasn't allowed in the ceremony, or, you know,  _told_  -- is Pierce's best man.  
  
The speech he gives, put on the spot, holding his glass of Hawaiian Punch and vodka (at least the open bar wasn't a lie), is surprisingly heartfelt.  
  
"Pierce once told me he didn't need luck. And for a guy like him to find love, and to find it  _eight times_ ," Jeff falters, but Pierce just looks proud. "Well, it's inspiring. To Pierce and Dandelion. May your love grow like a weed."  
  
Abed enthusiastically knocks his silverware against his glass.  
  
Pierce and Dandelion kiss.  
  
It's pretty gross.  
  
&&.  
  
When dinner is served, it's actually Whopper Jr.'s, like honest-to-god, from Burger King, still wrapped in their crinkly paper, Whopper.  _Jr._  
  
Britta's not eating that, and she didn't eat her string cheese bite either -- just peeled it into little strips until Troy looked at her pleadingly.  
  
"Why is this food so tiny?" He sounds anxious, like maybe he's worried he's suddenly become a giant and is just now noticing.  
  
"It's supposed to excite your palate for dinner," Britta says. See, Pierce? She  _is_  cultured.  
  
(Why the fuck is her inner dialogue proving itself to Pierce?)  
  
"You mean, like, sexually?" Troy's voice goes up on the last word.  
  
"Exactly," Jeff says. "Wait, are you  _not_  attracted to cheese in tube form?"  
  
Troy's eyes get big, and Britta counts down the seconds until he mentions 'butt stuff,' but it never comes, because her stomach growls loud enough for the entire table to hear.  
  
Annie's the only other person who hasn't touched her burger and she looks just as hungry.  
  
"Are you going to eat that?" She asks Annie, before raising her voice to address the whole table, "Which you  _shouldn't_ , because it's the flesh of mistreated animals that were raised in conditions you can't even  _imagine_."  
  
Annie sits up straighter, "I can -- I watched a documentary this summer." She seems proud, but then her shoulders sag. "I was going to text you and tell you about it, but --"  
  
Britta has a vision of Annie, on a couch somewhere, reaching for her phone to text Britta and then remembering how she screwed up. It's kind of depressing, Britta's been that girl before. The girl that burns bridges with female friends over guys -- the girl that doesn't even normally  _have_  female friends.  
  
"Listen, the wedding next door probably has better food, I bet we could get in there," Britta says.  
  
"You mean, like,  _crash_  the wedding?" Annie whispers the word 'crash.'  
  
Abed perks up, "But which of you would be Vince Vaughn? Annie has dark hair, but it's sloppy to rely on appearance. You'll have to go over there and report back before I can make final casting decisions."  
  
Britta stands up, "You coming?"  
  
Annie nods and refolds her napkin.  
  
&&.  
  
Getting into the wedding in the next hall is ridiculously easy.  
  
There's a huge crowd around a buffet line and Britta and Annie just join at the end. It's even simpler than that movie made it seem -- not that Britta watched that movie. Or if she did, it was only because she mixed up the directions to the art house theater and 'Wedding Crashers' was the only thing playing at the multiplex.  
  
(Or it's because Owen Wilson is cute. But she's sticking with the art house thing if anybody asks.)  
  
"I guess most people don't question two single gals at a wedding!" Annie's being overly cheerful.  
  
"Did you just say ' _gals_ '?"  
  
The part Britta really wants to ask about is the 'single' part -- did she mean  _single_ -single or single, like, presently-unaccompanied-by-men single? And if it's the latter, who's to say she and Annie aren't dating? You don't need a  _man_  to not be single.  
  
"I did say 'gals' -- I'm just excited to be doing something with you," Annie's speaking slowly, like she's choosing her words carefully. "I thought -- Britta, I thought you'd hate me."  
  
Britta can tell the people around them in the line are listening, but it doesn't matter. They weren't invited to this wedding, they don't know these people.  
  
"I was angry, for a little while. You know, Vaughn and then Jeff -- are you Single White Female-ing me?" She forces out a laugh at the end.  
  
Annie's face is blank.  
  
"Single White Female? The movie? Oh my god, were you even born when that movie came out? You weren't, were you? Oh my god."  
  
"No, no, I was born -- I think I was 1?"  
  
"Oh, god." Britta squints down the line, trying to see what they'll be eating, trying to focus on  _anything else_.  
  
"It's OK though, I know what you mean -- it must look bad," Annie shifts on her feet. Her heels look pretty uncomfortable, too.  
  
"I shouldn't be mad -- I told you it was fine to go for Vaughn -- which it is, I'm not in charge of him, I'm not like, Mother Earth, and you couldn't have guessed I'd just told Jeff I loved him.  _I_  didn't even expect that."  
  
"No, he told me."  
  
Britta stomach twists.  
  
"When?"  
  
"Before we kissed," Annie looks nervous and checks the people around them, like she's checking for witnesses.  
  
How do you even respond to that? How even would fucking  _Juno_  respond to that? That seems like a pretty bitchy thing to do, and Britta normally thinks using the word 'bitchy' is bitchy.  
  
"Well, I hope you two are very happy then." There's a bite in her voice, but it's more hurt than anything.  
  
"No, it's not like that -- it's just, he's Jeff Winger and he was paying attention to  _me_. Do you know what that's like?" Annie's face is all open and earnest and Britta kind of wants to put a handful of mashed potatoes in it. "Of course you don't, you can't be invisible, because you're Britta Perry."  
  
"What? What does that mean?"  
  
No, seriously, what does that mean? Why is she using their full names?  
  
"The most popular guy in school noticed you on the  _first day_. He formed our study group for  _you_. And you're so cool, so detached, with your leather jackets and your, your -- your discman, that you don't even care."  
  
It's probably Britta's turn to say something, but she's not even sure what to say.  
  
Annie continues, "And for once I just went for it. I wasn't going with Vaughn and Jeff was there and I just lived in the moment. And I don't regret it."  
  
They're getting close enough to the mashed potatoes that Britta could actually grab a fistful now. Annie must realize what that sounded like because she backpedals.  
  
"I regret that it hurt you, but I don't know, I thought maybe it was about Slater, not even about Jeff. Was it? Do you love him, Britta?"  
  
Holy shit. This is not a conversation Britta imagined having with Annie, uh,  _ever_.  
  
"I don't know, I mean, yes, kind of, I don't know. It doesn't matter, he's with you now, right?"  
  
Annie laughs and Britta can feel herself frowning.  
  
"That would never work, and we both know it. He tried to take me out on a date. We couldn't even pick a place -- I wanted to paint pottery and he wanted to get a drink. They carded me, Britta! And then when he made a joke, I -- this is embarrassing, I got upset. I know I took it wrong. It's just -- I'm not you."  
  
Britta smiles, but Annie continues. "I don't want to  _be_  you. And I really like Vaughn. Jeff's so -- cynical. Even when he's not trying to be. How can you live like that? So defeated?"  
  
"That's growing up, kid." Britta feels like a jerk even saying that, but it's true. Of course Vaughn's happy and optimistic, he never grew up. And Annie's barely even had a chance to.  
  
They're finally at the food and Britta heaps her plate high with a salad and rolls and eggplant parmesan. She skips the mashed potatoes.  
  
"When you danced with Troy -- " Annie says as they're walking back to the other banquet hall. "I was jealous."  
  
Britta knows it's petty, but there's a tiny part of her that likes that. Just a little.  
  
&&.  
  
By the time they've gotten back to the table, dessert has been served and eaten. Britta can see Otter Pop wrappers on the table and is almost sorry she missed trying to watch the guys eat Otter Pops while ignoring the obvious innuendo of sucking on something long and round.  
  
That's probably why Pierce picked it.  
  
Britta starts in on her dinner as the band is introducing the first song.  
  
Pierce and Dandelion will dance their first dance as man and wife to -- "You Light Up My Life." It's ridiculous, but kind of sweet.  
  
They do some old time-y dance, a waltz maybe, and Pierce almost looks graceful, gliding around the room, posture perfectly aligned with Dandelion's.  
  
After about 30 seconds, he moves his hand down to her ass, so that whole illusion is gone. Along with Britta's appetite.  
  
The next song is a Rickroll and Pierce laughs and laughs and laughs. Then makes the DJ play it again.  
  
They shoot the shit at the table for a few minutes, Jeff looking back and forth between Britta and Annie like something's going to happen, but Britta feels mostly at peace with things. Or Annie's parts at least.  
  
Shirley asks Abed to dance and Abed agrees, saying, "Aren't you going to ask to lead? The comedic value is higher that way."  
  
Troy tries to get Britta to dance, saying they could do that routine from last semester, but when Britta catches a glimpse of Annie, she's watching the conversation intently and Britta melts a little. Even with Vaughn and Jeff and everybody else that will come after (even when he threw himself at her in the lounge), Annie probably won't ever forget Troy.  
  
Maybe a dance with a boy she never thought would give her the time of day would help Annie's ego a little. And if it helps it enough that stops making out with Jeff forever, then: bonus.  
  
"Why don't you dance with Annie?"  
  
"All right!" Troy hops up out of his chair and grabs Annie's hand, dragging her out to the dance floor.  
  
"Was that your subtle way of getting me alone?" Jeff raises his eyebrows and smirks.  
  
"Too soon, Winger." She's trying for playfully exasperated. Or would it be exasperatedly playful? She's trying to be cool, OK?  
  
"Listen, Britta -- " He's lowered his voice like he does when he's actually going to be the tiniest bit sincere.  
  
"No, you listen -- " Britta's not exactly sure what she's going to say here. "What the fuck, man?" She drops her head onto the table, but picks it back up quickly.  
  
"While that wasn't the most eloquent way to put that, I see your point and I -- I'm sorry."  
  
"Stop the presses! Did Jeff Winger just  _apologize_?" Her voice is a little loud, like she's drunk, hell, she  _feels_  drunk, but her last Hawaiian Punch Vodka was an hour ago.  
  
He looks her right in the eyes and it's alarming. His eyes are all clear and -- serious.  
  
"I did. Look, I know what I did was -- inappropriate, but I just didn't know what else to do. Britta,  _you told me you loved me_."  
  
"I was there."  
  
"We have this whole banter thing, I chase you, you run away, we sleep together in the study room, I shoot you. It's, jesus, it's a lot of work."  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize being friends with me was  _work_." She can feel her cheeks getting hot.  
  
"It  _is_  work, trying to keep things where you want them. And then the whole thing with Slater happened and the drunk dials and I can't keep it all straight and then all of the sudden you  _love_  me?"  
  
"It wasn't all of the sudden. And in what universe is a girl telling you she loves you, hell,  _two_  girls, a good reason to make out with Annie?" She's trying to keep her volume level under control as the song that was playing fades into another.  
  
"That was -- unplanned. Annie was just there and there were no strings and she's just, Annie's pure."  
  
"No, she said she lost her virginity during that whole pill addiction." Britta can't decide why she felt she needed to say that, but she said it anyway. Stay classy, self.  
  
"What? Jesus, no. I mean, she's so young, there's not, like, expectations and sadness and pressure. She's  _new_."  
  
"This is awesome, now I'm dirty and old, too! Why don't you insult my mother while you're at it? You know, you're no spring chicken yourself."  
  
"Spring chicken? What I'm trying to say is, I thought I wanted that, in that moment, but Britta -- I just want you. I want the frustrating, world-weary, misdirected rage-filled, passionate, competitive, little bundle of joy that  _you_  are."  
  
Britta's probably supposed to swoon now, supposed to throw her arms around him and kiss him and then Abed would do a voice over and everything would be perfect.  
  
Instead Britta says, "Good to know."  
  
&&.  
  
She was always going to catch the bouquet.  
  
And because Jeff is so freakishly tall, he was always going to catch the garter.  
  
And because Pierce is an old perv, he was always going to be make them do the thing where Jeff slides it on to her leg.  
  
Normally Britta would protest, but Dandelion looks really happy and she just married Pierce, that can't last for very long. So Britta sits in her chair, in the middle of the dance floor and crosses her legs, while Jeff slides the garter up.  
  
Britta's not really a pantyhose kind of woman and tights would've looked ridiculous with this dress, so it's just Jeff's hands on her bare skin -- while fucking 'Hot in Herre' plays. Pierce should never be allowed to listen to contemporary music, ever.  
  
Jeff keeps his eyes on hers the whole time, slipping his fingers around her calf while he inches the fabric up. His fingers are long and slim and warm and Britta's skin goosebumps (which, she would like to point out, is totally involuntary).  
  
Jeff raises his eyebrows a little bit and gives her leg a little squeeze, not sexy, but more -- reassuring? (But still sexy, oh fuck.)  
  
She's trying to look annoyed and bored or anything that isn't completely and totally interested in the way Jeff's hand is rubbing up her leg.  
  
By the time the garter is finally above her knee, her whole face has gone flushed and she jumps out of her chair, stumbling on her heels a little. Jeff steadies her, wrapping his hands around her waist and she can hear Troy let out a whoop.  
  
Britta stays around just long enough for the photographer to get a couple of pictures and then books it outside, grabbing her purse on the way.  
  
&&.  
  
When Jeff finds her, she's leaning against a tree, heels kicked to the side and toes curled in the grass. It's nice out here at night, the moon is shining off a little pond she hadn't noticed before and she's watching the smoke from her cigarette curl in the light.  
  
"I thought you quit?" Jeff says, gesturing to her cigarette.  
  
"Yeah, well, it didn't stick."  
  
"Can I bum one?" He looks a little sheepish.  
  
" _You_  smoke? Doesn't that affect your ability to be all high and mighty?"  
  
"I smok _ed_. I got my first three promotions at the firm over cigarette breaks. I would've smoked a can of lead paint if I thought it'd help. And let's be clear -- I can be high and mighty about anything."  
  
Britta hands him the pack and her lighter, watching as he taps one out and lights it.  
  
He takes a drag and exhales. Britta watches it come out in a thin stream.  
  
"You're inhaling."  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Hmm."  
  
At some point, they both finish their cigarettes. And if Britta were even slightly more aware of anything that wasn't how tall Jeff seems when she's not in heels, and how good he smells and how he's towering over her and, like, radiating heat, she'd be worried about starting a fire.  
  
But she's not.  
  
Those are the only things she's aware of and she'll find the butts later and throw them out, she promises.  
  
Jeff looks down at her and it's so fucking quiet out, she can only hear him breathing and the faint din of music from the banquet hall.  
  
The grass is coming up in between her toes and it tickles and she fidgets a little, moving slightly closer to Jeff. She wants to kiss him, she really,  _really_  wants to kiss him. But is that giving in? Folding too easy?  
  
He catches her eye, "Hey, we've done this before," and his voice is all low and gravely.  
  
"It's a little different, the playing field is a little less -- " Britta goes up on her tiptoes. "-- level."  
  
Jeff takes a step forward, backing her up into the tree.  
  
"You want me to even it?"  
  
She's not sure if that means he's going to pick her up -- or if he's going to tell her he loves her.  
  
It might be nice to hear it, but what if she didn't mean it? What if he doesn't? And they're just always fucking talking, both of them.  
  
She moves her hand to the lapel of his jacket, tucking her fingers under it, "No."  
  
"All right then." He bends down and she goes up on her toes again, bringing her other hand to his chest.  
  
There's a moment, right before they connect, when everything feels still and she's perfectly balanced. Her skin is warm all over and suddenly she can hear everything, the wind in the trees, a plane over their heads, and his heart is beating right under her hand in time to the blood rushing in her ears.  
  
It's different than the quad, different than the study room and then his mouth is on hers.  
  
Her hands wind up around his neck while his fit around her hips, pinning her to the tree. The bark is rough against her back, the thin fabric of her dress catching and pulling on it.  
  
Before she can think about it, she opens her mouth, sliding her tongue out and against his and it's warm and wet and dizzy.  
  
He slides his leg between hers, hitching her up a little and, fuck, this feels  _awesome_.  
  
She struggles with his suit jacket, finally helping him shrug it off, before his hands are back on her, fumbling for the zipper of her dress while he moves his mouth down her throat, kissing and licking and  _biting_.  
  
She feels like moaning, making any noise, would be giving in first, so she clamps down near his shoulder and twists into him.  
  
Jeff gives up on the zipper, moving his hands down to the hem of her dress instead. He shoves it up roughly and keeps it there, fisting one hand in the cloth, and she grabs his face, pulling her mouth back to his. None of this feels graceful or smooth, but it's hot and Britta's past caring.  
  
His tongue wrestles with hers as his fingers skirt the inside of the thigh. She squirms toward his hand, the tree tearing into her back and when he finally reaches the fabric there, she's practically bucking up into him.  
  
She's not sure where her right hand is -- in his hair somewhere? Maybe? But she worms her left hand down to this fly, undoing the belt, before popping the button and sliding down the zipper. He's gotten a finger under the elastic of her underwear and is drawing little circles, almost lazily.  
  
She slips her hands past his boxers (boxer briefs? What are these things called?) and squeezes and things stop being lazy.  
  
Before either of them can consider what they're doing, she's shucked Jeff's pants down and wrapped her legs around his waist, moving her underwear to the side at the last second. Jeff's got one hand under her and one against the tree for leverage and she buries her face in his neck as he slips into her.  
  
There's not much of a rhythm, rutting up against a tree like they are, but they get it done. She pulls down on that stupid matching tie as she goes over the edge and Jeff barrels behind her, groaning into her hair.  
  
They are  _ridiculous_.  
  
&&.  
  
Britta has to wear Jeff's suit jacket back into the wedding, because the back of her dress is dirty and torn. They make it just in time for the last dance -- a full orchestra-backed version of "Greendale's the Way It Goes."  
  
The Human Being comes tearing through the reception, flailing his, hers, its arms and distracting the study group from Jeff and Britta's entrance.  
  
But then they notice. Quickly.  
  
And Shirley looks scandalized, and Annie looks scandalized and  _intrigued_ , and Troy looks jealous, and Abed looks like Buddha, all smiling peacefully.  
  
&&.  
  
It takes seven months for Pierce to get a divorce.  
  
It takes another three for him to announce he's remarrying Dandelion.  
  
The only thing Jeff and Britta can agree on for the building block zombie city is trees. A lot of trees.  
  
&&.


End file.
